


Love hates itself

by ZarAlexander



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6998062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZarAlexander/pseuds/ZarAlexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For every aspect of himself, there is an equally important and yet opposite one, so much that, over time, he has started to conceive his own body as split in half as well: the part where Iwa-chan could leave the bruises and the part that, instead, would show in his volleyball uniform.  [IwaOi, yaoi, BDSM, Dom/sub play]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CHAPTER ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taimi/gifts), [MadDogMajima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadDogMajima/gifts).



> English refuses to become my native language even for some yummy BDSM play.  
> Jokes aside, it's the first time I try something like this, so yeah... any feedback is appreciated! I'm still trying to decide if I'm satisfied with the result or not.

**CHAPTER ONE**

 

_Come here, come here – same old story._

_A fickle balance that crumbles_

_Under the wind of new glories._

_Love hates itself._

_(Free Translation from “L'amore si odia”, Noemi ft. Fiorella Mannoia)_

 

 

Slowly, he traces the curve of his jaw.

 

It's just the tip of his finger, rubbing that mess of falling tears and heated skin, smearing it all over his cheek almost out of spite.

 

“Please...!” a voice echoes and his hand – the other one, the one holding his hair in a fistful – tugs harder.

 

It's just a reflex, a conditioned body memory. He hears his own knuckles crackle as a scream reverberates, and it's so close, just so very close to being simultaneous that he yanks again, eliciting one more agonizing growl.

 

“P-Please...!” the voice comes again, a hushed and guttural whisper that makes him almost smile at those blindfolded eyes.

 

He lets go and takes his time to reply. He leisurely wets his own lips, observing with ill-disguised pleasure how another mouth, just a few inches away, is gaping for air so hungrily, desperately. 

 

“Please, what?” his words roll out with calculated indifference, followed by the metallic rattle of handcuffs rubbing against each other and then by a soft thud as they hit the wooden board of the bed. 

 

Beneath him, skinny, sweat-slick hips buck upwards, timidly.

With a smirk, he reaches behind his back. It doesn't take long for his long fingers to find the plastic, buzzing end of the vibrator. He caresses it, delicately. He taps on it with his nail, again and again.

 

“Aaaa-aaaaaah...!” 

 

“Oh, you were talking about this, then?” 

 

One last tap and then he pushes, making the object slide back in all the way.

 

“AH!”

 

The umpteenth scream makes him chuckle.

 

“Who would have thought that Captain Oikawa could fail so blatantly at giving directions?” he says, waiting for the vibrator to pop out a couple of centimeters before forcing it back once more. 

 

“Iwa.... chan...! It... hurts...!” 

 

Ah – as if he didn't like it when it hurt.

 

“So what?” he says instead, voice low and husky, veiled by make-believe disgust “This is not about you, remember? This is all about me, my dear Tooru. And...”

 

Tap, tap, tap.

Then he twists the vibrator gently, causing the boy he is straddling to arch his back.

 

“And if I want you to be in pain, you'll be in pain.”

 

He takes the toy out, almost completely, leaving it there only long enough to savor the inevitable sigh of relief.

 

“Clear?”

 

Harder and deeper than before, he slams the object back inside, and the scream is so loud it merges with tears and breathlessness, turning into a pitiful concert of cries and coughing.

 

“My, my. How unsightly of mythical and prim Oikawa-san, now isn't it?” 

 

Warm, watery trickles erupted from beneath the blindfold, adding to the redness, to the wetness, to the shame.

 

“Oh, and are those tears? Again? You sure do cry a lot, don't you?”

 

“I-Iwa-chan...! Please...! I beg of you...!”

 

Iwaizumi Hajime grins.

 

“Beg me? What for?”

 

The sorry excuse for a voice that grazes his ears is so sorrowful and yet angry, so full of despair and yet streaked by disdain.

 

“You... you know...!” 

 

He leans forward, and he is so close he can feel warm breath coming in pants on his neck.

 

“Oh, yes, I do. I do know very well, Tooru.” his fingers trace his face again, but his self-control falters for a moment and he digs his nails into the soft skin of his cheek “And you know too, don't you? You want me to fuck you hard, all tied and spread-out like this, don't you? And you want me to do that because you can't take it anymore... can you? The stress, the concentration, the churning of your mind, all your responsibilities match in and match out... and this is the only way you can let go. Am I right, Tooru?”

 

The face just so close to his own contracts into a grimace.

Those red, swollen lips quiver as a tooth bites into the lower one.

 

“So? Am I right or not, Tooru?”

 

He reaches back again, thrusting the vibrator in a torturously slow manner, twisting it ever so often.

Oikawa Tooru swallows hard. But he doesn't reply, his lungs too busy trying to hold onto air to formulate any word.

 

“You know very well you're not getting it until you ask me. Am I right, Tooru?”

 

“Y-Yes...!”

 

It's just a gust, but it's definitely there.

 

“Oh, good boy. We're making progress. Yes... what?”

 

Slowly and carefully, thrust after thrust, he angles his movements to reach deeper, directing a symphony of moans, whimpers and writhing.

 

“You... are right...!”

 

Another grin paints his lips.

 

“I know that I am right. So, what it is that you want?”

 

Moans turn into growls as the boy underneath him realizes that his answers have been futile.

More tears start falling.

 

“Please...! Please, Iwa-chan...!” anguish mounts in his tone, until all his misery becomes blatant “F-Fuck me...! Please, please, please!”

 

Wrenching away the vibrator, Iwaizumi Hajime stands up. He takes a hold of shiny, hazel hair once more and with another, harsh tug on his locks, the man in front of him is now on all fours.

 

“Good boy. Was it so hard?”


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**CHAPTER TWO**

 

_Come here, come here – same old words,_

_For a fragile, fragile feeling_

_Like concrete wears out the sole,_

_Love hates itself._

_(Free Translation from “L'amore si odia”, Noemi ft. Fiorella Mannoia)_

 

 

Oikawa Tooru's life can easily be divided in two, like the halves of a court split by the net.

 

There's captain Oikawa, the athlete, the one popular with girls. And there's Tooru, the uncle who walks his nephew to his practice matches on his free day. Inside this arbitrary division, more, smaller separations could be done still, fractioning his personality into a myriad of fragments that somewhat coexisted alongside each other: the flirty boy, the serious student thinking about his future, the Captain boasting with self-esteem, the insecure adolescent. 

 

For every aspect of himself, there is an equally important and yet opposite one, so much that, over time, he has started to conceive his own body as split in half as well: the part where Iwa-chan could leave the bruises and the part that, instead, would show in his volleyball uniform. 

 

How had it all started? He can't remember now.

 

Maybe, just like his love for volleyball, it had been casual.

He had known Iwaizumi for forever, they had grown up together. All their adventures were linked to each other's existences – they had gone fishing for the first time together and then to matsuris, to theme parks.

 

They had been together in everything that mattered, so, somehow, it had been natural, as they both reached _that age_ , to start experimenting together. Secretly getting hold of their first hentai mangas, sneaking some porn magazines. 

 

Masturbating.

 

It worked for them.

And, just like everything else was and had always been in Oikawa Tooru's life, that part of himself was just something beyond the white line, something hidden behind what everybody else could see. 

 

Because he could be the same person and yet two different ones, couldn't he?

Serving quick, uncatchable balls on the court and giving his first blow job to his childhood best friend on the same day.

 

How all of this evolved? Right now, he isn't sure of it either. 

 

If he had to find a cause, a turning point, to nitpick the myriad of memories he had with Iwa-chan in search of anything significant... then, yes. It would be  _that day_ , when he had been grabbed by his collar, when Iwa-chan had made him snap out of his tantrum as he almost punched Kageyama. 

 

Maybe something had broken inside of him back then, as he felt powerless and out of control for the first time in his life? Who knows?

 

The first time he had asked Iwa-chan to hit him, Hajime had just smiled.

 

“You mean even more than I do, you stupid Shittykawa?” he had replied.

 

But Tooru was dead serious.

 

“No. I mean hard enough to leave bruises.”

 

He would never forget that look, the gleam of astonishment and fear that sparked in Iwa-chan's eyes in that exact moment.

He had dismissed it all as a silly joke, the result of watching too much porn over the internet.

 

Until he had found Tooru crying.

Curled in a ball in the school's storage closet. Stress had gotten the best of him, crushing all of his willpower until all was left were uncontrollable tears. 

 

“I don't know what to do, Iwa-chan...! I... I can't bear this anymore...!”

 

That's when Iwa-chan had hit him for the first time.

A slap, right on his face, followed by a kiss and then more punches and kisses and strokes.

 

That's what was happening beyond his white line, yes, behind the perfect façade of silliness and determination, behind his carefully build shell of self-esteem.

 

Over time, their plays became more complicated. Toys and various implementations were brought into the scene. Tooru had been blindfolded, tied up, gagged, spanked, whipped. You name it.

 

And still, every single time, what flashes into Tooru's mind is the gaze Hajime gave him in that exact moment, as he slapped him in front of the balls' basket in their school's storage room. Those two, fiery eyes questioning him, filled with anger and resentfulness and yet gleaming with affection.

 

Oikawa Tooru stands up, struggling to raise from the damp bedsheets as his whole body hurts.

 

Iwa-chan is already gone – he never stayed after, not even once.

 

He looks at himself in the mirror.

His abdomen is covered in purple bruises, his hips are full of scratches and, likely, training – or even just sitting, really – will be rather painful for at least a week.

 

But, again, it doesn't matter.

It's his behind the scenes, not his spotlight, and yes, he can perfectly be two people at once and be happy.

 

He lowers his gaze, taking in the rough texture of his room's wooden flooring.

 

He can be two people at once, yes, but... can Iwa-chan follow him? Can he really keep stepping in and out of that line, going from and to darkness? Can he keep looking at him straight in the eye on the court and dig his nails into his back in bed? 

 

Oikawa Tooru doesn't know.  
  


His phone rings, shaking him suddenly out of his thoughts. He smiles a little as he sees Iwa-chan's face flash on the screen.

 

“Hurry up, Shittykawa, I'm not gonna replace you again for half of practice, understood?”

 

**\- The End -**

 

 

 

 


End file.
